


When You Can't Go Home

by CasusFere



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe, Psychological Trauma, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five million years ago, a crack Decepticon unit specializing in prisoner rescue and recovery was captured and imprisoned by the Autobots. Now, the Decepticons are trapped on Earth deadlocked in an endless war against Optimus Prime - until Starscream disobeys orders and breaks the Combaticons out of the Autobot mind prison.</p>
<p>Non-Shattered Glass mirrorverse, where the good guys are the bad guys and the bad guys are the good guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“He's fretting again,” Vortex murmured, settling next to Swindle. 

Swindle turned his gyro-gun over, carefully checking over the mechanism. “When isn't Onslaught fretting? I swear, the guy's trying to wear himself into the scrapheap early,” Swindle grumbled. 

Across the hold, Onslaught was speaking quietly to Brawl, ignoring the sideways look Swindle gave him. _Probably going over the plan. Again._

Brawl nodded as Onslaught spoke too quietly for Swindle to hear- not that Swindle needed to hear. It'd become something of a routine; Onslaught  would spend days plotting the mission, go over it with the entire team, and again with each member of the team until Blast Off locked himself in his quarters and Swindle started finding any excuse to get off base just to avoid him. 

“No escaping him once we've launched,” Vortex murmured, showing off his uncanny ability to mirror Swindle's thoughts. He jerked his head when Swindle looked up, questioning. “Don't look now.” 

Swindle looked. Onslaught was standing over him, arms folded. Pasting on a bright smile, Swindle patted the ground next to him. “Ons!” 

Onslaught snorted, settling on a crate across from them. “I want you two to be careful, alright?” 

“We're always careful, Ons,” Swindle told him, trying to keep the exasperation from his face. The only thing worse than being lectured on how to do something he'd done a thousand times was being lectured on how he wasn't taking that something seriously. “You and Brawl are the suicidal ones.”  
Beside him, Vortex just nodded, carefully checking and loading glue capsules. 

Onslaught gave the a measuring look, like he thought they weren't actually listening. “Keep it simple,” he said finally. “In and out. You get to the prisoners, get them out, no distractions. If something even _looks_ like it's going wrong, I want you two to drop everything and get out fast.” 

Swindle sighed. “We know, Ons. We _have_ done this a few times, y'know,” he reminded his commander. 

“Don't get complacent,” Onslaught growled. To Swindle's relief, he left it at that, standing and walking away. 

Undoubtedly to badger Blast Off. 

“He's only doing it 'cause he cares.” Vortex smacked Swindle lightly with a rotor. 

“Hey, watch it!” Swindle shoved him back. “And does he have to be so slagging insistent  with his caring?” 

“Yes,” Vortex told him primly. 

“Wish he'd go care elsewhere, then,” Swindle grumbled without any real heat. If he was being honest – which was rarely – Swindle had to admit that Onslaught was better than most commanders he'd served under. For starters, one didn't have to worry about being reprimanded for Onslaught's mistakes  - Onslaught believed that even the best plan was worthless if it didn't take into the weakness, not just the strengths, of a team. 

Not that Onslaught tolerated slackers or incompetents. His team was hand-picked from the Decepticon elite forces, each experts in their fields. 

Onslaught, perhaps the best small-group tactician Megatron had. He was known for being both strict and fair, and excelled in leading small groups on dangerous missions behind Autobot lines. 

Blast Off, an expert flier with an alt-mode large enough to serve as a transport. An arrogant mech, but one whose skill matched his ego. 

Brawl, a tank with a reputation for being a vicious fighter, and easy to bait. His violent temper was the main reason he'd be shuffled from one command to another, despite his prowess on the field.  He wasn't the brightest of mechs, but he was loyal to a fault, following Onslaught without question. 

And Vortex, as brilliant as Brawl was dim. He wasn't on the team for his fighting abilities, which were adequate but not stunning, but for his mind. In a team designed to liberate hostages and Autobot prisoners, some held for vorns before rescue, having a team member with psychiatric training such as Vortex's was an asset.  And Vortex in particular had devoted his career to studying and treating the victims of Autobot 'hospitality.' 

Swindle was as much an asset as any of his team mates, but in a far less obvious way. He didn't have their mass or skill at combat, nor had he ever been trained in tactics, astronavigation, or psychology. But he knew how to move in seedy underbelly of backwater planets, how to 'acquire' items they would otherwise have to go without, and most of all, he could find them information.  
If Swindle didn't know something, he knew someone  who did, or he knew someone who knew someone who did. He could, as Vortex liked to claim teasingly, sell someone their own gun and have them thank him for it. He could talk anyone into anything, given enough time. 

As a team, they'd been given the name the Combaticons, something that never failed to get a snort out of Swindle. They were one of the most successful of Megatron's gestalt teams, and a massive thorn in the Autobot's side. They'd become experts at infiltrating Autobot facilities, and retrieving prisoners kept inside, usually far from their own supply lines. 

“Check your gear,” Onslaught called, “We're about to touch down.” 

“What does he think we've been doing?” Swindle growled, giving his weaponry one more check over. Vortex just patted him on the head, getting an elbow to the side for his troubles. 

Onslaught watched the ensuing horseplay with a fond sort of exasperation He'd initially been worried about including Swindle on the team; Swindle hadn't had the best of reputations, and his attitude was less than stellar. His file consisted mostly of the longest rap sheet Onslaught had seen on a mech not serving a prison sentence. 

But Onslaught had needed a mech who knew how to operate outside the boundaries of normal society. Neither Onslaught nor Blast Off could blend into the sort of areas they had to go, and Brawl didn't have the charisma or frankly the intelligence to get the supplies and information they needed. As for Vortex, the psychiatrist was intelligent and charismatic, but utterly unsuited for the viciousness of the back alleys. 

He'd put in a request, listing parameters that had his commander calling him back to confirm that it hadn't been garbled in transmission. And what command had finally sent him was Swindle. He was a con artist and a black market dealer, and he a grudge against any sort of authority figure. 

Vortex, being Vortex, had immediately 'befriended' the sullen mech, despite Onslaught's warnings.  
Swindle had warmed to the chopper after a few weeks of Vortex's dogged friendliness, and had become nearly inseparable, much to Onslaughts surprise and continued amusement. After that, integrating with the rest of the team became much easier. 

The team worked together with a smooth efficiency that earned them a place in the gestalt experiment, and after that, a permanent assignment retrieving prisoners of war. 

“Onslaught, we're starting the descent,” Blast Off radioed breaking into Onslaught's thoughts. 

“Very well,” Onslaught acknowledged. 

Swindle looked up from jabbing Vortex in the side when Onslaught stood. “We there?” 

“Strap in,” Onslaught told them. “We're landing.”

x-x-x 

“So far, so good,” Swindle murmured, as the door hissed open. No alarms blared, no guards shouted. Swindle slipped into the room, looking around carefully before motioning Vortex in behind him. “This way.” Swindle flattened against the wall, reaching for the door controls. Vortex nodded, covering him.  
Tapping the door controls, Swindle stepped back quickly, bringing up his gyro-gun.

“Clear,” Vortex whispered. 

Swindle slipped into the hall, Vortex on his heels. “I don't like this,” he muttered. “Something's not right.” 

“What?” Vortex asked curiously. 

“If I  knew, I wouldn't be sayin' 'something,' would I?” Swindle growled. “Something's just off.” He paused. “It's too quiet, y'know?” 

Vortex looked at him for a long moment. “...No, not really. What were you expectin', a welcome party with balloons and banners?” 

“That's not what I meant!” Swindle hissed, checking the numbers inscribed above the doors. “Brig.” He started dismantling the door-lock casing. “It's... Ah, never mind. It's stupid.” 

Vortex patted him on the shoulder. “We'll just have to be that much more careful, won't we?” 

“Yeah,” Swindle sighted. “I guess.” His fingers rapidly rewired the panel as he spoke. “There should be one guard on duty at this hour, and if the others did their part, they won't see us coming. As long as we can neutralize this guy before he can raise the alarm, we should be clear.” 

“I know, I was at the briefing too,” Vortex said with a snort, lifting his glue gun. 

“I wish you'd get a real weapon,” Swindle muttered, pointing his own gun at the door. 

“Stop acting like Onslaught and open the door.” 

Swindle spared him a grimace and tapped the control. Vortex tensed, ready to fire at the guard. 

The room was empty. 

“Now I _really_ don't like this,” Swindle muttered, making a quick circuit of the guard station. 

Following him in, Vortex moved over to the computer. “Cameras show nothing. Looks like Ons and the others have their side under control.” 

“Maybe,” Swindle muttered pessimistically. “C'mon, let's just get our people and get out of here before the guards come back.” He turned for the cells. 

“It's a little late or that,” a voice broke in. Swindle spun as the air behind Vortex shimmered and solidified into a haughty-looking mech, his rifle trained on the back of Vortex's head. “Move, Decepticon, and I'll turn his CPU into a pile of molten circuitry.” 

_“Tex, on my mark, hit the deck,”_ Swindle sent over a short-range encrypted link. “Hey, now, no need to be hasty,” Swindle said, pasting on his best easy grin. “We can talk this through-” His smile never wavered as he switched to the radio. _“Now, Tex!”_

Vortex dropped to the ground, but Mirage had been expecting the maneuver, and was already moving when Swindle opened fire. 

“Frag it!” Swindle yelled as Mirage faded from view. “Ons!” he radioed. “We've been had! It's a trap!” Vortex scrambled for the door, Swindle hot on his heels. 

The door opened before they reached it. 

“Goin' somewhere?” drawled Ironhide, smirking cruelly, cannon powered up and trained on them. Behind him, Inferno grinned viciously, his own rifle at the ready. 

“Frag!” Swindle swore, just before something cracked down on the back of his head, sending him crashing to the floor, out cold.


	2. Rescue

Optimus Prime stopped on the bluff, transforming and giving his new troops a hard look. “Time for you to prove yourselves.” 

Silverbolt landed heavily beside him, peering down at the human base below.

“Feh. what could they possibly have that we would want?” Slingshot sneered behind them. “Look at them. They're nothing more than squishy little insects.”

”Shut yer mouth before I shut it for you,” Ironhide snarled. 

“Oh, I'm so scared,” Slingshot mocked. “The big bad _van_ is gonna hurt me!” 

“Enough” Optimus Prime rumbled. “Both of you. This base is currently guarding an experimental fuel. Silverbolt, you're going to retrieve it.” 

“What about the humans?” Fireflight asked, perching on an outcropping. 

“I don't care what you do with them. Bring me my fuel.” 

The newly-made jets exchanged looks, evil smirks spreading.

x-x-x 

Starscream landed lightly next to his commander, unknowingly mimicking Silverbolt and Optimus Prime's positions on the same buff mere hours before. He frowned, surveying the wreckage that was left of the human base.

“He followed us,” Starscream said finally. 

Megatron spared him a glance but didn't respond. Starscream didn't need prompting; if he had something to say, he'd say it, whether or not Megatron wanted him to. 

“We're losing ground,” Starscream continued, optics focused on his commander. “We're outnumbered.” 

“We've always been outnumbered,” Megatron rumbled. “Yet, we prevail.” 

“Through superior science and sheer luck,” Starscream pointed out. “And we both know it's mostly the luck part.” 

“Don't impinge on the skill or courage of my troops,” Megatron warned,voice low and dangerous. 

“It's not their courage I question, _Lord_ Megatron,” Starscream growled back, unafraid. “We need more troops.” He gave Megatron a significant look. “Good thing that we know where the Autobots are keeping their mind prisons, isn't it?” 

“The answer is still no.” 

“You'd leave a fellow Decepticon to torment at the hands of the Autobots?” Starscream switched tactics, affecting a look of shock. 

“Drop the act, Starscream. You don't care about the prisoners.” 

“No, I don't,” Starscream agreed. “But I do care about winning this war, and we do need the troops. And we know where they are.” He held up on hand, palm up. “Need troops.” He held up the other. “Know where troops are. Come on, Megatron, it doesn't take a genius to guess what we should do next.” 

Megatron turned to glare at his second. “We had this discussion when we first located the troops. We can't afford to lose anyone trying to rescue troops already lost.” 

“We can't afford not to try!” Starscream snapped back. “We're on the brink out here! We hold Cybertron- mostly because it's too depleted to be worth skirmishing over – but ever since we landed on this Primus-forsaken planet, we've lost battle after battle, and if something doesn't change soon, we're not going to leave here alive.” 

“And that is exactly why I can't risk you or anyone else on such an idiotic venture!” 

“They've got fliers now,” Starscream reminded him. “They've taken away the best of our advantages.” 

“And with the Stunticons, we've taken away one of theirs.” 

“ _One_. They still outnumber us almost two to one! We need more!” Starscream insisted. 

“The Stunticons have proved themselves to be the equal of any Autobot, and better than most,” Megatron growled, his patience beginning to wear thin. 

“And yet, as powerful and invulnerable as they are, you still called a retreat today,” Starscream reminded him. “More soldiers-” 

“ _No_ , Starscream.” Megatron gave him a flat look. “I won't be swayed on this. I cannot, _will not_ , risk my people for a group of mechs who are probably incurably insane by now. I can't afford to risk anyone, least of all you.” Megatron turned away, ending any further discussion. 

Starscream bit back a sharp retort and followed him. _Just wait, Megatron. You'll see I'm right._

x-x-x 

It was another day, another battle, but one thing was clear...

They were losing. 

Starscream circled the battlefield, easily dodging Autobot lasers and the odd stray cannon blast. Below him, the Decepticons regrouped for one last push. 

And they were losing. 

At least the skies are clear of Autobot tailfin, Starscream grouched to himself. The Aerialbots had been forced to land and combine to deal with Devastator and Menasor, leaving the seekers clear to down the irritating minibot flier. For a moment, it seemed like the Decepticons stood a chance... 

Until the Autobots unveiled Wheeljack's latest invention. 

The mad Autobot inventor had shouldered a massive cannon, aiming for one of the circling seekers above and firing, hitting Thundercracker squarely in the underbelly. 

At first, it seemed like nothing happened. Then the seeker plummeted, stalling and dropping into an unrecoverable spin. He'd hit the ground and augured in, one wing sheering off as he hit, sending debris and dirt flying. 

No one had managed to get close enough to see if he was even alive. They were too busy trying to stay alive themselves. 

Blitzwing, with the reckless courage he was known for, turned sharply and went straight for the insane Autobot, diving straight down on him, trusting his armor to protect him from both the impact and the weapon. 

It was a favorite tactic of the triple-changer, and the one that had convinced his fellow Decepticons that Blitzwing was utterly crazy. He picked up speed as he dove, quickly out-pacing even the seekers' maximum velocity, intending on transforming to his sturdier tank mode just before impact. It was effective, hard to counter- 

-and predictable. Wheeljack engaged his own jets, dodging out of the way. Blitzwing plowed into the ground, the impact sending rock and dirt in every direction. Hovering just about the crater, Wheeljack took aim and fired before the triple-changer could regain his bearings. 

A barrage from laser fire from Thrust was all that kept Wheeljack from neatly finishing the helpless Blitzwing off. 

Meanwhile, Superion had manage to down Menasor long enough for he and Omega Supreme to turn on Devastator with a vicious double-team, battering Devastator back to his component parts. The Constructicons retreated, unwilling to face both an Autobot gestalt and a Guardian by themselves. 

Starscream really couldn't blame them, but it left his seekers to try and keep the Autobots distracted long enough for Menasor to regain his footing and re-enter the fight. 

Megatron and Soundwave had their hands full, trying to beat back Optimus Prime and a small hoard of Autobot cars. 

_“Skywarp! Help Megatron!”_ Starscream ordered over the radio. 

The black seeker waggled his wings in acknowledgment and vanished, reappearing behind the Autobot leader, opening up with a barrage of lasers. 

Starscream turned to the next biggest threat. 

Wheeljack. 

The Autobot had taken cover in a rock outcropping, firing at anyone who was unfortunate enough to land in his sights. 

_“Thrust! With me!_ ” Starscream screeched over the comm, banking hard. _“Distract the Autobot! I'll take him out.”_ Thrust was the only one who stood a chance of dodging long enough for Starscream to get a good shot at Wheeljack. 

Starscream came around without waiting for Thrust to respond, confident that the other Decepticon would do as he was ordered. He was, after all, one of the Decepticon Elite, and no matter how often Megatron teased Starscream about replacing him with a newer-model conehead seeker, Starscream never doubted his seekers' loyalty. 

Starscream stayed low, marking Wheeljack's position by the flash of his weapon as he fired on the maneuverable Thrust. 

Wheeljack spotted him just as he fired, using his thrusters to jet out of the way once again. But Starscream didn't become the Air Commander for his sweet and loving personality; he turned with the Autobot, null-rays nailing Wheeljack and sending him tumbling back down, unconscious before he hit the ground. 

Starscream climbed again, rolling just in time to avoid a blast from a plasma rifle. 

_Frag it, is every Autobot on the planet here?_ Starscream snarled to himself. It certainly seems like it. He snapped off a shot at the minibot trying to slip around behind Megatron and Soundwave. _Call the retreat, Megatron! We can't win here!_

Megatron seemed to think otherwise, holding his ground and firing at Optimus Prime. Starscream was too far to hear the shouted insults, but he'd heard enough of their exchanges to guess what they were saying. 

“Idiot,” he growled out loud. “There's no point in fighting if you can't win! ...Feh, I'm starting to sound like Thundercracker.” 

He opened fire again, chasing the minibot back to his Autobot friends, then looped back around. 

_The entire Autobot army really **is** here._ The idea hit him suddenly, and he had to remind himself to keep flying. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? 

_“Regroup! Protect Megatron!”_ he screeched over the comm as he banked away. 

_“Where are you going?”_ Dirge demanded even as he turned obediently towards their leader. 

_“To get reinforcements,”_ Starscream snapped back, engaging his afterburners and streaking for the Ark.

x-x-x 

“Frag Inferno anyway,” Red Alert muttered as he worked, taking advantage of the empty base to do a little 'updating' of the security systems. “It's just as well... Inferno doesn't need to know anything.”

He quickly tapped in the security override to Prowl's office and slipped inside. Pulling a chair over, Red Alert stood on it, carefully removing the light cover and unscrewing a small device hidden inside. He replaced the tiny burnt-out camera with a new one, checking the wiring and sweeping the room for any additional bugs someone else might have placed while his system was down. 

His own listening device and camera wouldn't be picked up by a casual sweep, installed as it was directly into the already existing electrical and security systems. Another quick check made sure Prowl hadn't bugged his own office against visitors while he was away. 

Finally satisfied, Red Alert settled into Prowl's chair, and set to work breaking his password. 

He was utterly engrossed in the task when the security alarm blared suddenly, making him jump. 

_Frag it!_ Red Alert covered his tracks, replacing the chair and making sure everything was in order before slipping out of Prowls office and running for the security center. 

The alarm cut out suddenly. 

Red Alert swore and changed directions, ducking down a side corridor. the control room was closer, and while it wasn't as equipped as his security center, it was obvious that the intruder was already inside the base. He cursed himself for spending so much time worrying about Prowl catching him – it allowed the intruder to make the distance from the perimeter to the base interior. 

_Fast – a seeker? Or one of the those new cars?_ He unspaced his rifle as he ran. 

He skidded to a stop outside the control room doors, reaching for the panel. 

The doors slid open before he reached it and Red Alert found himself staring into one of Starscream's null-rays. 

“Surprise,” the seeker said, and fired.

x-x-x 

Starscream looked down at the unconscious Autobot with distaste, kicking him out of the way and stepping around. He was tempted for just a moment to do away with the Autobot then and there, but held back.

“Feh. Going soft.” Starscream gave him one last kick before walking past, leaving a smoking computer system behind him. 

With Telatraan-1 neutralized, and the apparently only Autobot on base down, Starscream had free rein for the moment. 

He headed for the brig, hesitating only for a moment, tempted to try to locate the armory and turn the place into a smoking crater. 

But he was running on a tight timetable, he reminded himself. He'd been a guest of the Autobot brig before, and finding it wasn't going to be a problem. The armory, however, could be anywhere, and probably had additional security measures that he didn't have time to deal with. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped there when the Autobots returned. He wasn't built for close-quarters fighting. 

A shot from his null-ray disabled the door lock to the brig, allowing him to lever it open manually.

Megatron's voice crackled over his comm suddenly, startling him. _“Decepticons, retreat!”_

“Megatron, as always, your timing leaves much to be desired,” he grumbled out loud, shoving the door aside with renewed urgency The Autobots would be heading back any moment, and Starscream still had to retrieve his targets and get out .

“If I was a personality component, where would I be...” Starscream muttered. 

The cells, of course, were empty. He yanked open the drawers at the guard station, scrabbling through the datapads. 

“Frag it!” The brig walls were bare. “They're not here” Starscream darted for the door. “They have to be somewhere nearby...” He went room to room checking each, increasingly frantic with each one. 

Finally, he spotted what appeared at first to be another storage cabinet, but locked and key padded. A shot from his null-ray took care of the lock, and Starscream yanked it open. 

Lined up neatly inside were rows of small containers, each containing the personality component and critical hardware of a Decepticon prisoner.

“Finally.” Starscream muttered, scooping them up. He ran back out the way he came, taking to the air as soon as he cleared the airlock. Starscream checked his radar and turned back towards the Decepticon base at full thrust.

x-x-x 


	3. Interlude: Swindle

I can feel the others – sometimes it's the only thing that tells me I'm not dead and locked in the Pit. 

...And sometimes it's enough to convince me I am. 

At least the yellin' has stopped for the most part. At first it was all I could 'hear,' Brawl and Onslaught raging against.... whoever. Whatever. 

Ons got quiet pretty fast, and Brawl wore himself out eventually. Don't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

Because that's when the screaming started. 

Vortex. 

It's not really screaming, I guess. It's more... feelings. Crazy, insane 'make you wanna claw your own optics out 'cept you don't have any' sort of feelings. 

I'm sure I'm only getting' the muted version, but sometimes it gets bad enough that all I want is for him to shut up. Brawl gets the same way – the longer Vortex goes on, the angrier Brawl gets until you can feel it comin' off Ons, too. 

Think Ons is more angry at whoever put us here, but that don't make it any easier to handle. 

Sometimes, I think I might be able to handle this if they'd all just shut up. 

Can't feel much from Blasty  - not surprisin', really. Blast Off was designed to spend long stretches of time by himself. 

Almost makes me wish I'd been built a shuttle. Or maye that Vortex had been built a shuttle. 

It's not his fault... but frag it, that doesn't make it any easier to handle. 

Just got to take it one fit at a time... because that's the only way to mark time in here.

And I just gotta hope that it's just my imagination that says that Vortex's fits are lasting longer and longer....


	4. Homecoming

Megatron was waiting in the docking tower when Starscream landed.   
    
“Well, frag...” Starscream had been hoping to avoid his commander for a day or so, ideally until the Constructicons had revived the prisoners and proven Starscream right.  
    
_No such luck,_ he groused to himself, touching down and pasting a smirk on his face. He may be fragged, but he'd rather be melted down for scrap than give anyone, especially Megatron, the pleasure of seeing him acknowledge it.

Megatron folded his arms, his expression stormy. He knew exactly where his disobedient second had been. He had been pacing the docking tower since returning. He'd realized that Starscream wasn't with them moments after calling the retreat, and had sent Skywarp back to look for the crash. When the seeker caught back up to the group empty-handed, Megatron had at first been surprised, then angry.   
    
His idiot of a second never knew when to just shut up and obey.. _. That's why he's your second,_ Megatron reminded himself ruefully. But he kept his expression grim as Starscream sauntered over.   
    
He still wasn't sure whether he should be furious with the seeker or congratulating him. He certainly wasn't going to tell Starscream, but the flier's ingenuity and tenacity had saved them time and again, and keeping up with Starscream's devious mind kept Megatron sharp and alert. But on the other hand, the same devious ingenuity had almost gotten them all killed on more than one occasion. He wasn't sure yet which catagory this little escapade was going to fall under.  
    
The unrepentant smirk on Starscream's face decided the matter for him.   
    
“Waiting up for me? Did you miss me that much, _mighty_ Megatron?” Starscream asked, smirk widening. “You really shouldn't have worried-”   
    
Megatron's hand snapped out, seizing the startled seeker by an intake. “Where were you, Starscream?” he demanded, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear Starscream say it.   
    
Starscream winced at the crushing grip on his shoulder. “I was getting us reinforcements,” he said, managing to keep his voice almost even.   
    
“I ordered you to stay away from the Ark,” Megatron rumbled dangerously.   
    
“And I told you that I could handle it! And obviously, I was right!”   
    
Suddenly he found himself yanked around by his intake and slammed back against the hanger wall.   
    
“You're a slagging idiot, Starscream! I ordered you to stay away from there for a reason! If anything had gone wrong you would have been killed on the spot or locked away with them.” He nodded to the armful of personality components Starscream still clutched. Slowly, he let go of the Air commander. “I can't afford to lose you now, Starscream,” he growled quietly.   
    
Rattled by the impact and even more by the admission, Starscream could only shrug. “...It worked?” he ventured.   
    
“Hmph. Take them to the repair bay and then you and I are going to _discuss_ this further.” With that ominous order, Megatron turned sharply and walked out, leaving Starscream to grumble at his back.   
    
Starscream stalked into the repair bay moments later to find it packed. Mechs in various states of injury and repair lay on berths or waited against the back wall, the Constructicons scrambling to keep up with the damage. Scavenger barely spared him a glance as he dodged around the seeker with an armload of parts. The other Constructicons didn't even give him that.   
    
“Hook!” Starscream raised his voice to be heard over the shriek of a heavy saw.   
    
“If you aren't bleeding all over the floor, it's not an emergency,” Hook snapped, not lifting his optics from the twisted mess of metal in front of him.   
    
Starscream made out a charred stabilizer and what was left of a section of tread, and realized with a sickened feeling that the mess was Blitzwing.   
    
“What happened?” Starscream asked, stepping closer.   
    
“Get the frag out of the way,” Hook snapped instead of answering, shouldering past him to grab a welding torch.   
    
“If you'd been there, you'd know,” Bonecrusher growled from another berth, his entire left leg missing, ending in a sparking stump just below the junction.  
    
Starscream looked over at him and frowned.   
    
“Omega Supreme got him,” Scavenger spoke up before Starscream could say anything, hastily getting between his volatile gestalt-mate and the hot-tempered Air Commander. “Him and Thundercracker are the only serious injuries. Thundercracker should be alright,” he added helpfully before Starscream could demand the update.   
    
“If he gets that converter you're playing with,” Hook snapped from the other side of Blitzwing.   
    
Scavenger started, looking down at the converter in embarrassment before handing it to Scrapper. The Constructicon leader took it, going back to work on the downed seeker without comment.   
    
“While you lot were chasing rainbows with the Autobots,” Starscream said loftily, “I was on a very important rescue mission-”   
    
“No one's been captured,” Bonecrusher interrupted with a snort. “Who were you rescuing, your imaginary friends?”   
    
Starscream glared at him. “Not recently, maybe, but that just makes it that much more impressive that I was able to rescue them, doesn't it?” He held up his prizes. “Behold, the residents of the Ark's mind-prison!”   
    
Even Hook looked up at that, hands stilling for a split second.   
    
“So? What the frag are you waiting for, a pat on the back?” He grumbled, turning back to his work. “Put them on the table and get the frag out of my repair bay. I'll see to them when we're done.”   
    
_Single-handedly infiltrate an Autobot stronghold an liberate the prisoners they've been keeping for millennia, and what do I get? Slammed into a wall and told to get out of the way._ Disgruntled, Starscream dumped the components on a table and stalked for the door, what was left of his good mood evaporating. “Comm me when you've checked them out,” he ordered, trying to salvage some dignity and sense of authority.   
    
“Yeah, yeah,” Hook muttered, turning his attention back to his work.   
 

x-x-x 

   
Red Alert came back to consciousness to find familiar deck plating in front of his face and the ominous rumbling of an angry truck engine above him. Wincing, he raised his head.  
   
Optimus Prime glared down at his security director. “One Decepticon. You let _one_ Decepticon walk in here destroy most of the control room, and waltz back out with my prisoners?”  
   
“I-” Red Alert tried. He cringed as Optimus Prime's fist clenched, bracing himself for pain.  
   
Prime spun suddenly, fist smashing into the mech standing behind him, sending Inferno to the ground with a crash. “And you were supposed to be with him, not taking potshots at cassettes!”  
   
Someone snickered, but it was hard to tell who in the small crowd gathered outside the control room to watch the entertainment.  
   
Prime heard the laughter, too, and surveyed the gathering. “I want my control room fixed, and I want it fixed now,” he snarled. Then he turned and walked away, cold fury plain in his optics.  
   
Mechs scrambled to work, or to look like they were working, utterly ignoring the two on the floor except for the occasional smug sneer.  
   
Red Alert sat up, head still ringing form the null-ray. “I told you to stay” he muttered sullenly at his companion.  
   
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Inferno grumbled, rubbing his face. “I'm not a fragging security drone,” he growled, heaving himself to his feet.  
   
“No, security drones are generally more effective than you two,” a voice broke in.  
   
They looked over to see Jazz leaning comfortably in the doorway.  
   
“Maybe you should try billin' yourselves as a comedy act,” Jazz continued, grin wide and mocking.  
   
“Why don't you go suck slag?” Inferno growled.  
   
“Careful,” Jazz said, waggling a finger. “That ain't no way to talk to a superior officer.”  
   
Red Alert grabbed Inferno's arm as he opened his mouth to respond. “Come on,” he muttered, tugging the fire truck away. _“Not a fight we can win,”_ he added flatly over the radio.  
   
Inferno muttered something uncomplimentary about officers that Red Alert pretended not to hear, and let himself be dragged down the hallway.  
 

x-x-x 

   
“Starscream!” Spike hopped off his perch on Skywarp's foot when the Air Commander exited the repair bay.  
   
Starscream fixed the young human with an irritated look. “What?”  
   
“How are they?” Spike didn't seem put off by Starscream's sour response – the seeker made no secret of his lack of patience with the native species. He'd argued with Megatron to allow the human pair to stay, insisting that they needed to have a local who understood the human society to consult, but that didn't mean he had to socialize with the little squishies.

“Busy,” Starscream grunted. “And so am I.”   
    
“No, Thundercracker and  Blitzwing,” Spike clarified, jogging to keep up. Behind him, Skywarp climbed to his feet to follow.   
    
Starscream stopped suddenly, glaring down at Spike. “The Constructicons are working on them, and if you ask me one more time,” he added as Spike opened his mouth. “I'm going to step on you.”   
    
Spike gave him an unimpressed look, but didn't ask again. He'd long ago gotten used to the Decepticons' gruff manners and almost-threats. He let Skywarp pick him back up – he'd also gotten used to being manhandled like some sort of small dog, being scooped up and carried around. Mostly by Skywarp, who sometimes seemed to think of him as a pet, something that in less dire circumstances made Spike roll his eyes and grumble.  
    
On the bright side, since the Decepticon base was built on a singularly massive scale, he was perfectly happy not having to walk. Besides, the door controls were a stretch for the cassettes, who were quite a bit taller than him.   
    
That in mind, Spike didn't complain as Skywarp carried him back to the repair bay doors and settled back down to wait.   
 

x-x-x 

   
Starscream stalked into the control room, wing flaps twitching in irritation. “Fine. I'm here,” he snarled.  
   
“Sit down,” Megatron said coolly. “I want to know what possessed you to disobey my orders and  abandon your post during a battle.”  
   
Starscream pulled a chair over, sitting warily. “I saw an opportunity and took it. And I was right.”  
   
“You left your comrades in the middle of a battle,” Megatron growled. “Did it occur to you that the Air Commander might be needed?”  
   
“We lost that battle before we even got on the field,” Starscream snapped back. “My plan at least had a chance of succeeding!”  
   
“Watch yourself,” Megatron growled. “You _can_ be replaced.”  
   
“Ha! With who? Thundercracker's the only one who can match me in the air, and he's about as suited as that squishy Skywarp carries around. Skywarp's an idiot, and none of the others would dare to tell you when you're being a fool.” Starscream snorted. “You're the one who preaches about independence and speaking out against the oppression and idiocy of those in power.”  
   
“There is a time and place, Starscream, something you continually fail to grasp!” But he'd lost the argument, and he knew it.  
   
Starscream smirked, sensing that he'd won the point. “Of course, Megatron,” Starscream allowed, deciding to be gracious in victory.  
   
“Hn.” Megatron eyed him. “Report.”  
   
Leaning back and steepling his fingers, Starscream looked smug. “I went in, I rescued the prisoners, I came out.”  
   
“Besides that!”  
   
“The Autobots are going to be spending the next few weeks trying to replace most of their computer systems.”  
   
Megatron nodded. “And the prisoners?”  
   
“Well, it would have been nice if I'd had an exact location.” Starscream sniffed. “But no, someone decided it was a bad idea-”  
   
“Starscream...” Megatron warned.  
   
“I found them,” Starscream said hurriedly. “Hook will comm when he's ready to go over them.” He paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded almost subdued.  “...What happened out there? Blitzwing looks like someone dropped a smelter on him. Scavenger said something about Omega Supreme-”  
   
Megatron nodded tiredly. “Omega Supreme decided that a paralyzed triple-changer was an easier target than the Stunticons,” he growled, anger flashing in his optics. “He shot him, then stepped on what was left.” He sneered. “Autobot coward.”  
   
“Are you surprised? After all these vorns?” Starscream waved a hand. “They're Autobots. They've never cared about honor or dignity.” Starscream rubbed at the intake Megatron had grabbed earlier.  
   
“Surprised, no. Angry, yes” Megatron sat back, frowning in thought.  
   
Scrapper chose that moment to comm. “Blitzwing and Thundercracker are stable and Hook deems the rest of the injuries to be minor enough to wait a little while. He says to, quote, 'Get your afts down here,' if you want to be here when he goes over the Autobots' prisoners.”  
   
“We'll be right down,” Megatron responded, giving Starscream a quelling look before the seeker could open his mouth.  
   
Hook looked up as they entered, carefully detaching a CPU from the scanner. He didn't bother to greet either of the Decpticon commanders.  
   
Megatron ignored the lack of friendly attitude. He was used to Hook's apparent disregard for petty things such as rank or decorum. Never one to stand on ceremony, Hook tended to treat everyone with the same barely-veiled impatience.  
   
But Megatron didn't keep him around for his social skills. Hook was perhaps the most skilled surgeon to set foot on Cybertron in millennia, something that gained him a great deal of leeway and respect despite his arrogance and temper. Especially in times like this, when the injuries outstripped his time and resources.  
   
All of the Constructicons were trained in basic field repair, and as an engineer, Scrapper had more than a little experience in putting mechs back together, but all of the delicate work fell on the already-overworked Hook.  
   
“Your timing leaves much to be desired,” Hook growled at Starscream. “Last week, I might have had the time to deal with this. We might have even had the resources to handle one of these!”  
   
Starscream crossed his arms and glared. “We didn't have them last week, we have them now. So deal with it.”  
   
“I don't have the resources to 'deal with it'!” Hook snapped. “You can't just hand me this many minds and expect us to just conjure bodies for them! It takes time to build a working mech!” He stopped himself, then continued, voice calmer. “And anyway, I can't do anything for some of them – they're already too far gone.”

“What? Why?” Starscream demanded. “They're in stasis!”   
    
Hook glared at him again, not liking his authority in the repair bay being questioned. “They're awake. If they were just in stasis, they'd be fine, and what fun would that be?” His tone turned bitter. “The Autobots took out the safety protocols that would keep them from being aware. A few million years in total sensory deprivation drove them insane to the point that their entire personality protocols have been completely corrupted.” He shook his head. “The only thing I can do no is end the pain.”   
    
Silence filed the room at the grim pronouncement, broken only by the sound of machinery running in the background.   
    
“How many?” Megatron asked finally.   
    
“Five,” Hook said shortly.   
    
“Less than half lost,” Starscream muttered. “I suppose it could be worse.”   
    
“I can _save_ five,” Hook corrected him. “They're showing signs of corruption, but we won't be able to tell how badly damaged they are until we get them in bodies and wake them up.”   
    
“The others-” Megatron started, voice heavy.   
    
“Already done,” Hook told him with a hint of defiance, daring him to reprimand him for acting without orders. Megatron merely nodded.   
    
“What's so different about these five?” Starscream mused, stepping closer scientific curiosity getting the best of him.   
    
“They're a gestalt,” Hook answered, looking down at the scanner readouts. “I don't know if thats what made the difference or if they just hadn't been in there as long...” He huffed. “I'm a surgical engineer, not a psychologist.”   
    
“Speaking of which,” Scrapper spoke up for the first time. “If anyone was ever in need of...” he trailed off.  
    
“Counseling,” Hook supplied without looking up.   
    
Scrapper nodded. “Thank you. If anyone was ever in need of counseling, these unfortunates would be it.”   
    
Megatron gave a short nod. “I'll recall Bombshell.”   
    
“With Blitzwing and Thundercracker as injured as they are, our supplies are already taxed,” Scrapper said. “I've sent Scavenger and Long Haul out to scrounge up whatever raw materials for Mixmaster that they can find, but it's going to take a while.”   
    
“You'd leave them trapped like that?” Starscream pretended shock.   
    
“Save it,” Hook snapped, unimpressed. “They're in stasis. Real stasis,” he added. “When my actual patients are dealt with, then I'll see about your new friends, and not before.”   
    
Megatron nodded. “Keep me updated.”   
    
Hook nodded, impatient to get back to work.   
 

x-x-x 

   
“I heard the most interesting thing today,” Jazz drawled, leaning in the doorway and watching Mirage clean his weaponry.  
   
“Do come in, Jazz,” Mirage said blandly. “And did you now?” he asked without much interest. Jazz's gossip was rarely the sort of thing Mirage found entertaining.  
   
“Well, not so much heard,”Jazz said, sitting down and flinging one leg over the chair arm. “Inferno wasn't in the Ark during the fight.”  
   
“This surprises you?” Mirage asked sardonically.  
   
“That doesn't... But the fact that Red was shot outside the control room does.” Jazz answered with a smirk. “Let's say you're a paranoid nut case of a security bot, left all alone in the base... where are you going to be holed up?”  
   
“The security center,” Mirage glanced up. “Ah.”  
   
Jazz nodded. “Ah, indeed.” He settled back. “I'd kill to know what he was up to.”  
   
“You would kill for a lot less, I'm sure,” Mirage commented.  
   
Jazz slid out of the chair, leaning over Mirage. “I'd kill for you to put that down,” he purred, trailing his fingers down Mirage's arm.  
   
Mirage gave him a considering look.  
   
Then he set the weapon down.  
 

x-x-x 

   
Skywarp jumped to his feet as Megatron and Starscream walked out of the medbay, nearly dislodging the human perching on his shoulder. Spike clung to the side of his intake to keep from falling to the floor  
   
“How is he?” Skywarp demanded, “Can I go in yet?”  
   
“Do I look like a medic? He's out cold, so what the frag will you do in there?” Starscream snapped.  
   
Skywarp looked stubborn. “I don't care. I want to see him.”  
   
“That's because you're an idiot. Why don't you go do something constructive and stop hovering?”Starscream said snidely.  
   
“Go ahead,” Megatron told him, mostly to spite Starscream.  
   
Skywarp didn't even stop to snarl back at Starscream, diving through the medbay doors, Spike hanging on for the ride.  
   
“What the frag do you want?” Hook demanded as Skywarp slid in.  
   
“Megatron said-” Spike started to answer for him.  
   
“Does everyone think they can run my medbay for me?” Hook interrupted. “Fine! Get over there and stay out of the way.”  
   
Skywarp set Spike down on Thundercracker's berth and pulled up a stool to wait.  
 

x-x-x 

   
“What the frag are you playin' at?” Sunstreaker snarled, trying to jerk out of Ratchet's grip.  
   
Ratchet shoved him back down on the berth. “Shove it out your actuator, Sunstreaker, and stop squirming. You were the idiot who tried to blow himself up.” He reached for the welder. “Hold still, and this will be over quicker.”  
   
“Blow myself up” Sunstreaker tried to sit up again. “It was Wheeljack's fragging weapon!” His voice raised. “This is all your fragging fault!” He pointed at the inventor.  
   
Wheeljack ignored him, calmly replacing a panel damaged in his fall.  
   
“You're the idiot who picked up an experimental weapon that had just fallen a few hundred feet and tried to fire it!” Ratchet shoved him down again. “Move again, and I'm gonna cut your motor functions.”  
   
“Get his vocalizer while you're at it, Ratch,” Wheeljack said, sliding the new panel in place.  
   
“Don't tempt me,” Ratchet growled.  
   
Sunstreaker subsided into sullen silence, allowing Ratchet to work on him with only the occasional jerk of pain and snarl.  
 

x-x-x 

   
 _A flash of light and a painful jolt ran through his underbelly, radiating up his fuselage and out his wing struts. With a sense of horror, Thundercracker realized he couldn't move his wings.  
   
The pain reached his thrusters, and his engines cut out suddenly, sending him plummeting toward the ground.  
   
Dirt and sky spun crazily as he tumbled, unable to move or transform. He couldn't even cry out – the burning pain had reached his vocalizer and choked his voice.  
   
He could hear someone shouting over the comm, but he couldn't answer, couldn't even make out what they were saying; he was going to die and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it- _  
   
Slowly, Thundercracker became aware of the soft buzz of machinery. He onlined his optics, staring up at a familiar ceiling.  
   
There was a dull ache in his side and wing, but the pain was mostly gone.  
   
 _I'm alive_ , he thought in surprise.  
   
Turning his head, he found a black wing blocking his vision. “'Warp,” he whispered, his voice raspier than normal.  
   
“TC?” Skywarp spun around on the stool, nearly falling off. “TC!”  
   
Thundercracker managed a wan smile. “Last time I checked.”  
   
“You've been out since yesterday,” Skywarp told him, leaning on the berth. “Spike was here, but Sparkplug dragged him off to training or whatever it is.”  
   
“You mean school,” Thundercracker said wryly.  
   
Skywarp flapped a hand. “Yeah, that. You've missed all the fun while you were napping.''  
   
Thundercracker snorted. “Napping,” he repeated dryly.  
   
“I told you to come get me when he woke up,” Hook growled, making Skywarp jump. “If you're going to take up space in my medbay, the least you can do is make yourself useful!” He brushed past the black jet, checking the scanners before turning back to Thundercracker. “Any tingling? Numbness?”  
   
Thundercracker shook his head. “Just sore. My wing aches.”  
   
“Hn. Be glad you have a wing at all,” Hook told him, bending over him to check the weld lines.  “We had to fabricate a new one from the struts out.”  
   
“What happened after I got hit?” Thundercracker winced as Hook moved his arm to get better access to the wing.  
   
“Blitzwing got himself hit by whatever nailed you and then stepped on, and that Autobot... What's his name? The yellow one?” Skywarp frowned.  
   
“Big one or little one?” Thundercracker asked tiredly.  
   
“Uh... The bigger one? They're both kinda little. Anyway, after Screamer took out the lunatic, the yellow 'Bot grabbed the gun he was waving around, and the whole thing just went up.” Skywarp mimed an explosion. “Boom! Anyway, that got the Autotrash all turned around, and we made tracks.” He propped his elbows on the berth. “We start back, and Screamer's no where to be seen. Didn't show up again until after we got back.” Skywarp shrugged. “No clue what's up with that.” He eyed Hook. “Or what's up with this,” he added, pointing at the next berth.  
   
Thundercracker glanced over, frowning at what looked like a half-built body.  
   
“They won't tell me anything,” Skywarp whined.  
   
“That would be because you're an annoying pain in the aft,” Hook growled, walking away.  
   
“He's got a point,” Thundercracker commented dryly.  
   
“Hey!” Skywarp gave him a wounded look. “Not nice!”  
   
Thundercracker grinned. “But true.”  
   
Folding his arms, Skywarp leaned  back and sulked.  
  


	5. Interlude: Onslaught

When we first became aware after being placed here, I admit I was surprised at our apparent good fortune. In the line of our duties, I'd seen the very worst of what the Autobots could do, mechs so tormented by what had happened to them that they were irretrievably insane, beyond even Vortex's skill. 

How had we been spared that? In the beginning, I though perhaps we were merely being... stored... for later interrogation and torture, and we were left conscious so our anticipation of the coming torments could heighten. 

I've come to a different conclusion in the time since. How long we've been here, I can't tell. I have no chronometer anymore. I have no body to feel, or optics with which to see. 

I'm merely- I wish to say 'floating,' but that implies some sensation still and  there is none. The only indicator of my existence is my own thoughts... 

I can feel the others, sometimes, vague presences in my mind. Is this a side effect of the gestalt? Or something the Autobots did? I'm inclined to believe the former, if for no other reason than I doubt that the Autobots would be so kind as to provide us with companionship. 

Or maybe their intentions were for us to all go mad together? 

I have no idea how long we've been here... It seems like vorns, but more likely, far less. I have to believe that, and I have to believe that the others will come for us, as we came for so many of them. 

I have to believe that. 

I have to. 

The alternative is madness.


End file.
